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Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns	By : shallowshadows Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 969 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: It's all falling into place and the romances have begun. I'm really looking forward to writing the chapter the last scene is hinting at for that very reason. Also, my apologies this chapter is a day late! I have college finals this week, finished the chapter late Monday night, and was unable to edit it entirely until today.
Updates every two weeks on Mondays. I'm not sure of the chapter count because I always write more than I expect to from my outlines.

Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns

Chapter 2 Goodbye, Apathy

Dean doesn't get the chance to call Garth back himself because the moment he decides to pick his phone back up off the table it begins to ring wildly, Garth's name taking over the screen. Speak of the devil. The older Winchester shoots the younger a look, and Sam nods, so Dean doesn't hesitate to pick up this time. "Hey, Garth."
"Oh, Dean! You picked up! Hey!" Garth's ever-cheerful voice echoes on the other end as if he's in a tunnel or underwater, but Dean doesn't question it and instead puts the phone on speaker so Sam can also hear. "I thought you guys were ignoring me or something. Silly, right?"
"Yeah. Silly." Dean rolls his eyes. "Look, I put you on speaker. Why don't you reiterate to Sam and I what you shared in your voicemail, except, you know, details this time?"
"Speaker?! Dean, no, what if someone hears?! Other than Sam, I mean. Where are you guys?"
"Garth, we're in a library in a private reading room with the door locked. Besides, what if some asshat got ahold of my phone and listened to that voicemail before I could delete it? I don't think it's us you should be worrying about with screwing up."
Some silence followed by a sigh come through the other end of the phone and the two swear they can picture Garth nodding. "Fair enough," he finally says, though he doesn't sound convinced Dean was talking about him. "Anyway, so as I said in the voicemail, I was hired on what seemed like a pretty straightforward case, yeah? But things got weird fast."
"Yeah? Weird how?" Sam asks, eyebrow raised.
"Well, I found out that this woman, Amelia Novak, she's with her daughter, Claire, in Albany. But you see, they don't belong there because they were under order to stay in Brooklyn. They're the same Novak's you're investigating, according to Bobby. But that's not even the weirdest part."
Dean exchanges a glance with Sam, who decides to speak up again. "What's the weirdest part then?"
Garth's voice becomes more of an echo and a train can be heard in the background, which serves to help clarify the Winchester brothers' prior confusion on his location. Garth lowers his voice, as if attempting to hide his words from those around him, but the sudden loudness of outdoors mixed with the train halting to a stop, squeaks and scraping, make it hard for him to be understood. He says a single sentence, but it's completely inaudible.
"Garth, you've gotta repeat that, man, we couldn't hear," Dean says as loud as he can without disturbing the people outside of the room.
"Oh, uh, sorry! Hopping on a train."
"Yeah. We kind of get that. Why are you getting on a train?"
From the sound of things, Garth is pushing by chatty people to get through the doors and a thud from him likely plopping down onto a seat is heard. "Well, I've been following Novak. She got on this train heading to Vermont for relatives there or something, so here I am too. Ah, crap! She's looking my way; I think she might be onto me." The last part of the sentence is faded out and the two brothers guess he'd lowered the phone momentarily.
"Okay, look, Garth. Just tell us what you said before the train cut you off."
The man sighs in a way that screams relief. "Okay, nevermind. She wasn't even looking at me. Oh, yeah! I said, 'I think the man who hired me was Amelia's husband, Jimmy, using an alias.' I've been following her around for weeks now. The wife and daughter left Brooklyn for Albany and now they're staying in this crappy apartment close to the center of the city. So anyway, how have you guys been—?" Garth is cut off by Dean this time when he tries to speak again.
"Holy shit! No way. You sure?" Neither Sam nor Dean is in the mood for small talk when they've gotten such a good lead that helps clear up some of their findings today, so Dean is quick to keep the conversation on topic. So that's where the Novak's ran off to in such a hurry—Albany. It's a decent distance away in upstate New York, so they're not exactly surprised.
"Sure as I can be. Say, you guys wouldn't happen to know which places in Vermont have good beer, would you? I'm dying to try their home-brewed since it's a big industry for them, but I've no idea where to start."
"Garth, we're in the middle of a case and you're asking us where there's good beer in Vermont?" Sam gives Dean a dirty look when the older Winchester grins at his question. Beer might be their favorite, but they're in the middle of a very dangerous case, for crying out loud. "Besides, what makes you think it's Jimmy?"
"Because I saw him talking to Amelia all casually and kissing his daughter on the head right after the guy who hired me met-up with me. He was wearing the same clothes; the only difference was his face was uncovered."
They have their doubts when it comes to the accuracy of Garth's information whenever he calls them to "help." But Bobby has always been good to them, so they trust him, and if Bobby trusts Garth, then they'll at least give the guy a chance as they always do. Besides, with a case like this, they need all the help they can get.
"Okay, thanks, man. We appreciate you calling."
"Sure, not a problem. You know I'm here for you guys if you need me! I'll call back with any updates."
"All right. Take care and be careful."
"Right! You too."
Dean hits the "End Call" button then leans back in his seat, eyes drifting across the table with a certain doubt, but Sam knows better than to question it, especially when he himself is a little skeptical of what they'd just heard. Instead, he shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath. "So."
"So?"
"So I'd say that's another lead."
A snort-like laugh comes from Dean. "Oh, please."
"Dean, you know we could use every bit of help we can get." Sam realizes he's trying to convince himself of his own words and takes note of the way Dean turns to look at him as if he can tell.
"Yeah, but Garth?" The older detective leans his cheek against a fist so his words become a little muffled. "Last time we brought that guy along with us to help, he knocked himself out on a flag pole and was out cold for hours. Remember how when we found him the pigeons were shitting all over him?"
For a moment, neither of the men say anything, but Sam is the first to start laughing and Dean can't help following along only a few seconds later. They laugh so hard they have tears in their eyes and can't breathe quite right. They laugh so hard they can't hear the annoyed tapping one of the workers is doing on the glass. They laugh so hard they forget they're in the middle of a case that could easily get them killed long after it's over.
And it's then that it dawns on both of them that these brief moments of laughter, these serene and relaxed moments where they forget their worries, are going to be one of the only things that help them sleep at night. Through and through, it has worked every time over the years and they don't doubt it'll do just as well for this case. Whether or not they manage to have these moments each day is another story altogether, however.
When they finally calm down and their bellowing chuckles have calmed to grins, Dean wipes at his eyes, murmuring something about being too manly to cry, and Sam suddenly remembers something important he'd neglected to mention before.
"Oh, shit, Dean. I'm such an idiot. What Garth said? About Amelia skipping town?"
"Yeah?"
Sam folds his hands, fingers entangling, and presses his chin into them. "So I know he may not have all his ducks in a row and tends to think you can pull blood from a rock, but he may be onto something. I just remembered that while I was out for lunch, I spoke to a woman who said she lived in the same area as the Novak's."
"Oh? And?"
"She had been driving down their street when she saw Amelia and their daughter leaving the house in a hurry. She said she pulled over to check on them and Amelia just brushed her off, telling her they needed to go see a dying relative up in Vermont is all."
"So? They probably ditched town after the murder because they were freaked out and couldn't think of a better excuse."
"So that was a few days before the murder, Dean. And you found Jimmy's phone destroyed, didn't you?"
Two and two get put together as something clicks inside Dean's mind. He curses and punches the table with the bottom side of a fist. "Son of a bitch! They were probably getting threats and so Jimmy made the girls leave town. That's why they weren't there when I interviewed him!"
"Bingo."
A frustrated groan escapes the older Winchester and he runs a hand down his face. That sneaky Novak. Protective husband and daddy mode must've kicked in the moment he'd gotten threats and he'd not even bothered to inform the police that he'd sent his family up north for their protection. Hell, he hadn't even informed the police of any threats, so why would he have bothered with the former?
"I'm going to try hunting down that bastard again. First I'll see if he decided to come back home for whatever reason, interview some more neighbors and all that just in case so it wasn't a wasted effort. Then I'll drive up to Albany if I've no luck here. I'll have Garth text me the address. I need to gently remind Novak it's illegal to high-tail it out of town without notification when he's under police protection."
"Dude, you know despite getting into work this morning at eight, it's already two-thirty in the afternoon and that's like a three-and-a-half-hour drive, right?"
"So? I like driving. Reminds me of the cross-country trips we've made before and how much fun we had. I'll get there while it's still light out if I haul ass."
Sam shakes his head, but Dean only grins at him. "Or you're still just a chicken when it comes to planes."
"Well, if I'm a chicken, then I'm a chicken. Chickens don't fly, Sammy, and neither do I."
x
While Dean heads back to the Novak's residence, Sam decides he'll do some digging on their sudden choice to leave town. He figures he'll be able to get some things from the wife's co-workers. Dean, on the other hand, always prefers the main source, so he doesn't even bother arguing.
This time he's lucky enough to run into less traffic than usual, so he's in a slightly better mood than the last times. However, Dean's "slightly better mood" still involves wanting to kick Novak in the junk for being so damn stupid. He'd told him to stay in town and the station would assign different officers to watch their home, their daughter while she was in school, and both he and his wife while they were at work. Eventually, they'd even work on getting their names changed and hiding them somewhere far away. It was all part of the plan.
Apparently Jimmy didn't like or trust their plan if he kept his family up in Albany.
Dean pulls up in front of Novak's little duplex with a resolve unlike the one he'd had before. He hates being lied to even though lying is a big part of his own personality, but isn't that how it always worked? The "don't do unto others" saying is usually destroyed by that single exception you make for yourself each day that quickly multiples into a hundred.
He pulls the gear into park and steps outside of the car, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strolls across the walkway and up the front stairs. Well, even if Jimmy is still somewhere in Albany someone has certainly been here. The phone is missing, only small shards of glass and plastic left behind, and the front porch's little swinging bench is creaking enough to signify that weight is currently rocking it along.
"Oh. Hello, detective."
Dean spots what he believes to be Jimmy, and immediately puts on his tough guy act. "Cut the bullshit, Novak, I know you abandoned ship to Albany," he says, eyes narrowing.
The other man is lying with his back against one of the thin armrests, legs crossed, hair a tousled mess, and even his clothes match the messy black locks in terms of neatness. He's wearing jeans, distressed fitted denim showing off his lean runner's legs, accompanied by a T-shirt that says some weird TV quote he recognizes but can't entirely put a finger on. This is topped off by a couple of silver bands on his right hand, the middle finger and pinky, and a vintage-looking watch on his left hand. His sweatshirt (the one he'd had on earlier), Converse, and socks are discarded on the ground next to a pile of books.
"Try again." A brow quirks up as he speaks, eyes settling on Dean like he's an exotic bird.
Dean feels like an idiot all over again, but he keeps his guard up just in case. "Lemme guess. Novak's twin again?" He may be on guard, but his tone has softened regardless.
"My brother is a neater dresser than I am."
"Shit. How the hell does anyone tell you two apart?"
"Some people say my eyes are darker than his and my voice is a little deeper, if that helps?"
Dean walks over to the man, extends an arm out, and grips onto one of the arm rests, inevitably stopping the swing in place. He leans in a bit, eyes squinting as he stares at the blue ones looking back at him in amusement. "Yeah, they are more of a sapphire color and your voice is more grunge rock metal or Batman than his could ever be," Dean murmurs as he backs away.
The older twin smiles at the comment, closing a book he'd been reading and placing it onto his lap as he swings his legs around to sit up. "I don't believe I introduced myself before. I'm Castiel Volkov."
"Dean Winchester, but you, uh, already knew that." There's this nervousness brewing in the pit of his stomach, something he's struggling to find a word for much like before when Sam had been checked out by this guy, except that this feeling is different. It's fluttery, flapping around in his stomach with a certain fury and quickly rising into his chest.
"Just as you already knew I'm Castiel, I'm sure, based on your comment to your brother before."
"I saw your name when Sam and I were originally reading into Novak, and later in an article about your parents, but it's better to hear you say it." Dean leans back against the railing, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I had no idea how to pronounce that crazy thing."
This time the other man laughs, shaking his head. "Well, I don't exactly expect people to be able to pronounce an angelic first name and Russian surname with ease," he says, eyes trailing up Dean in a fashion similar to how he'd been looking at Sam. Where Dean would typically be uncomfortable, he's surprisingly enjoying it.
However, he has a job to do and enjoying the flirtatious way another man looks at him when he's always known himself to be mostly straight (except, of course, for Doctor Sexy and a few select other men who have crossed his mind) is a distraction he doesn't need right now. "What the hell are you doing here anyway, Volkov? I thought you said you didn't speak with him much."
"Please, just Castiel. The Volkov's are my parents."
"All right, Castiel, what are you doing here?"
Another smile perks up the corners of the darker haired man's cheeks and he looks down. Dean swears it's done in a shy manner, but that could just be wishful thinking on his part. "I like the way you pronounce my name. You add a bit of your Brooklyn accent to it," he says, eyes flicking back up to Dean. "But it's true; I don't really speak with him. I'm here to give Jimmy back something I borrowed not long ago."
"What? Really?"
"We may not be on good terms, but he's still a very nice person. He can't help it."
Castiel shrugs and Dean mimics the gesture. "Not intending to sound like a rude prick, but what does a son of the Volkov's need from a middle-class average Joe?" He keeps his eyes focused on the other man, receiving a little head tilt and squint of the eyes in return.
"You think because my parents are rich that I am therefore rich?"
"Isn't that usually how it works?"
Castiel's laughing again and Dean mentally claims a personal victory for making a guy who barely shows any emotion according to what they've read laugh so many times, even if it's only brief and somewhat dry. He decides he likes Castiel best when he's smiling or laughing.
"Well, detective, I'll have you know I'm not. I have an average job and live in an average apartment with average furniture, an average cat named Hael, and average possessions. And I am proud of my average life," he adds.
"Do you have average neighbors?" Dean asks mockingly.
Castiel gives him a narrow-eyed look coupled with a smirk before leaning back against the swing. "You enjoy joking around?"
"It gets me by," he responds, turning his head and eyes to watch a couple of children playing with a ball two houses down. "When you have my job, you can't be Batman all of the time. Sometimes you gotta be just Bruce Wayne."
The man murmurs something in another language that goes straight to the pit of Dean's stomach and he feels his face burn ever so lightly, his pulse pacing just a tiny bit faster. It's obvious that Castiel notices immediately, eyes catching onto Dean's reaction with the curiosity of a cat.
"So someone likes Russian, hmm?"
"Shit, man. That Russian chick in the second Bond movie always had me weak at the knees." Dean shifts to cross his arms, doing his best to regain composure. "You fluent? What the hell did you even say?"
Castiel's eyes drag slowly down Dean's face and throat before settling back up on his face. "Yes, my parents taught me at a very young age while I was also learning English." He purses his lips a little, staring directly into Dean's dirty green eyes—which he will totally not admit kind of went straight to his stomach in a pool of nervous heat. The other man continues speaking after a moment, though his translation is said with a thick Russian accent that doesn't help Dean's resolve to be unaffected by it. "And I said, 'You certainly look the part of the handsome billionaire.'"
"Dude, seriously? That accent?" He instead decides to pretend he's annoyed, which Dean knows is a complete and utter lie, but he doesn't care. Better to give off a false emotion than admit to a stranger, a male stranger, his bilingual capabilities and forced accent are beyond sexy.
"My parents have incredibly thick ones and growing up I inevitably picked it up from them."
"Shit, that was real?" Dean feels something tight clench in his chest. When he realizes it's not an unpleasant feeling, he looks away and watches the kids again as a meaningful distraction.
"Hmm, yes and no." Castiel's vision focuses in on the kids as well, tapping his fingers on the book still lying in his lap. "The more I went to school and was surrounded by other American kids, and the less time I spent with my parents, the more my accent shifted into the more-typical mixed American one I have now. Time and again, when I'm around my parents a lot for particularly the holidays, it comes back out though. Weird, I know."
"Nah, not weird at all. Some people's accents dramatically adjust to those around them, others' only subtly if at all. Sammy's said as much. The guy studies a lot of random things. Too smart for his own good." Dean shrugs and glances back to Castiel, briefly catching the smile that was across his lips. "So why Hael?"
"Hmm?"
"Your cat. Why'd you name it Hael?"
"Oh." Castiel laughs and there's a certain softness to his eyes that continues to grow each time they talk; Dean can't help noticing it every time they exchange looks. Fondness? Comfort? Whatever be the case, Dean is intrigued by it. "When she was a kitten, her stoic nature reminded me of a girl I used to date, at least, before she tried to kidnap me. That was her name."
A loud snort echoes into the air and Dean realizes it came from him. "Oh, well, that's lovely," he says, sarcasm coating his words.
"To her credit, she wasn't always that way. She was suffering from PTSD and having delusions later in our relationship from a traumatic situation she went through. She mistook me as an all-powerful vessel for an angel that she wanted for herself." Ah, yes. Castiel. Didn't he say that was some angel's name?
"Dude, that's wacky. Damn. What kind of people do you date?"
The children's laughter bombards their ears as they roll by on scooters and they both watch them ride off before their eyes cross paths again, and then Castiel lifts a pen from his pocket to press to his lower lip. "The kind who catch my interest. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to write Jimmy a note that I was here and give his neighbor the item I borrowed for safe-keeping until he's back. I think I've spent enough time waiting for him to come around."
"Old-fashioned, hmm? I can respect that." And Dean is watching the way the other man gently nibbles on the push down trigger of the pen, eyes drifting from Dean to the porch. He presses down to click the pen out, slipping a pad of paper from a small backpack propped against a leg of the bench.
"As I can respect a cop who appreciates the Russian language."
Dean can't believe how much he's enjoying each conversation he has with this guy, and he's beginning to desire running into him at random like this more often. Of course, leaving it to chance is plain stupidity with a city the size of Brooklyn. But Dean, ever the macho man, is far too afraid of coming off like he's flirting or, Heaven forbid, asking this fairly attractive Russian-American man out on some ridiculous date. He instead turns to leave, but peers over his shoulder one last time, unable to resist his teasing nature.
"Oh, and Cas?" The other man looks up from his note. "My educated cop guess is you just enjoyed swinging and reading, so you didn't actually mind 'waiting.'"
"Goodbyyye, detective. You have real work to do." Dean's smirk extends well up into his cheeks and Castiel waves at him in a shooing manner as he rips the note off from the rest of the pad of paper.
When Dean is finally seated back in his Impala, he peers into the rearview mirror and watches Castiel as he walks over to a scooter. Dean recognizes the brand almost instantly from the markings and detailing. He knows his scooters and motorcycles just as well as he knows his cars after all. A 2014 Vespa LXV 150cc model in siena ivory with a brown leather seat and little rear trunk—Dean admires that he's comfortable driving around an almost $6,000 scooter despite claiming he's not rich.
Dean watches in his mirror as Castiel dumps the books and tiny backpack into the back trunk, locks it, and then pops on his helmet, slinging his leg over the seat as he quickly checks his cellphone. He gives Dean a short wave before shoving his phone into a zippered pocket, starting the engine, and turning off onto the street, heading back towards the city.
Dean kind of wishes he'd decided to haul ass back to the city as well, but instead he finds himself on the highway, driving on up to Albany like he'd told Sam he'd do. It does end up taking around three-and-a-half to four hours, but Dean couldn't care any less with his classic rock blaring and the breeze from the open road whirling through his windows. It already reminds him of home early on and he feels better than ever by the time he's made it to Albany.
He's so close to Delmar he could drive on over to visit Bobby in about twenty minutes if he wanted. It creates a sort of security within him that he hasn't felt back in Brooklyn lately. He kind of wishes he made Sam come with him.
Dean pulls down around a corner, not caring much for the scenery. He's much more focused on the buildings and trying to find the exact complex that Novak's family is staying in. Garth had not only texted him the address earlier while he was on his way up, but also sent him a description of the building, so he knows exactly what to look for.
As he hits the gas at a green light, no pedestrians crossing in sight, his mind wanders back to that Castiel guy. He doesn't understand why he's on his mind so much. He doesn't understand why his stomach feels fluttery when he thinks about those daring blues, that messy, short dark brown hair, that deep gravelly voice, and the way his lips move when he utters Russian. Then there's how he still doesn't understand why he feels an odd sting to his chest when he thinks about the way Castiel had looked at Sam—
He doesn't realize the loud honk of a horn is from his own car until he's slamming on the breaks and gets thrown forward, almost smacking his head off his steering wheel. Dean looks up immediately once his car has come to a complete stop. Slightly more faded blues that are identical to Castiel's other than that small fact stare back at him wide-eyed and scared. Well, maybe he doesn't have to find the apartment after all.
Dean gestures with a hand for the other man to get in his car and Jimmy Novak lowers his shoulders in defeat before walking over to the right side and getting in. Dean pulls the car off toward a small diner he used to frequent when here. When he gets out, he practically drags Novak inside and shoves him down into a bench seat.
"P-please don't make a scene, people are staring," the man says quietly.
"Don't tell me about making scenes when you bailed without notifying an officer," Dean snaps after sitting down across from him, causing Novak to shrink in his seat.
"You don't understand."
"Oh, yeah? What don't I understand? You've got five minutes."
Jimmy shifts uncomfortably and sighs. "My wife and my daughter were in danger. I didn't have police protection before the murder." He looks helplessly at Dean, who shoots him back a serious scowl. Jimmy's eyes dart down to look at the table, hands coming up onto it, fingers nervously shuffling together. "I'm not actually staying up here, honest. I came to check on them, but found out they're visiting Amelia's relatives in Vermont to help give some normalcy for Claire," he explains.
"Your family is under our protection too, you know. You should've informed us of the arrangements you made when the other officers first interviewed you." A part of Dean is sympathetic; there are things he'd do to protect Sam and Bobby that he wouldn't even think twice about. On the other hand, he knows personally how dangerous these kinds of cases are and is more than a little pissed off.
"I know and I'm sorry." Jimmy can't look at him, eyes focusing mostly on the table and his own hands. Dean figures this is the perfect opportunity.
"You do realize you could be deemed a fugitive if I decide to report this, right?" Novak swallows, hard. He wraps the fingers of one hand around the fist of the other, silent, and brings both hands up to his lips. "And," Dean carries on, "your wife and daughter too."
Jimmy's eyes widen as they did when Dean almost hit him on the road and he lets out startled gasp. "No, please. Please don't. Not Claire. She's just a little girl. And Amelia, Claire needs her mother."
"All right. Then I suppose you'll cooperate." The other man nods slowly and looks back down at the table. Dean has him right where he wants him and he smirks very briefly. It's time to go in for the kill. "You know, Novak. I get it. New York's expensive, especially Long Island. Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures."
Novak simply glances to the side, silent. Dean leans over the table a bit, prying further. "And sometimes people do stupid, dangerous things with bad, dangerous people in those desperate times to result in those desperate measures."
"I'm sorry, Detective Winchester; I don't feel comfortable talking about this in the middle of a diner in Albany. Could we discuss this further at the station back in Brighton Beach? I promise I'm returning. I-I could even ride back with you, if you'd like." Dean is taken aback by the sudden request as Jimmy wearily lifts his eyes to meet Dean's, and Dean leans back against the bench, mouth open a tad in a disbelieving half-smile and brows furrowed.
It truly is like day and night, Dean thinks, as his mind is drenched in thoughts of Castiel again. While Jimmy is caught up in the middle of a murder investigation, the potential target for a mafia hit, and looks frightened and desperate, Castiel has been calm and friendly, seemingly avoiding trouble as much as possible based on their first conversation. Dean wonders about what Novak's typical saintly and quiet personality based on neighbors' remarks is like because he's already getting to know Castiel's.
"Fair enough. But I swear to God, Novak, if you try to screw—" Dean is interrupted by Jimmy's frantic chant of "No's."
"No, no, no, no, no, I swear. I would never. I only care about Claire and Amelia's safety. Putting myself in the line of danger by returning isn't something I'm against."
Dean rubs the back of his neck. He looks over at Novak with his head half-tilted to one side. "Look, I get it. It's scary. We're working on it. You come back today and we'll have a cruiser follow you around. Then after that we'll talk witness protection, which is in progress right now. I promise we won't let anything happen to you or your family." Dean reaches an arm across the table to pat the other man's shoulder reassuringly. He gets a hesitant smile in return then gets up to head back to his car.
He takes a peak at his phone the moment his car door is shut and Dean finds at least three text messages, all from Sam. He remembers their conversation during his ride up here. Sam was saying how he had absolutely no luck with Garth or anyone else's leads, something that didn't surprise Dean in the least, but Sam kept hope that maybe it was more to do with bad timing and luck than any lead being false or hopeless.
Now Sam is saying he's found out something important and needs to speak with Dean over the phone. He quickly texts Sam in response, saying he'll be back in Brooklyn likely tomorrow morning because he's still got some things to do while here. He sends another that says he'll text Sam later to give him the okay for a call. Dean then browses through his contacts and hits the call button near Bobby's name without hesitation.
After only two rings, he hears, "Yeah?"
"Bobby, hey." Dean notices static on the other end, but doesn't ask what it is exactly. "This a bad time?"
Bobby gives a short laugh, a grin appearing in his voice. "It's always a bad time with you boys. What's up?"
"I'm up in Albany right now. Just had a talk with Novak and—" Dean leans in his seat to peer out at the other man as he seems to head back over to his car. The street lights are turning on and lighting up his features dimly as the sun sets. "I'm thinking I may stop by for a visit. That okay?"
"Why wouldn't it be, y'idjit? There something you're not telling me? Dean?"
Dean is silent for some moments when Jimmy walks up to his door and taps on the window gently. He presses the down button and quirks a brow. "Hold on a sec, Bobby. Can I help you?"
"I don't want you to think I'm intending to run off. I'll come back with you, if that's okay. I left the car with the girls anyway." Novak's expression is serious and Dean rolls his eyes. Okay, he kind of opened himself up to this by not refusing back in the diner.
"All right. Get in," he says, gesturing a thumb to the passenger front seat. Bobby seems to hear the side conversation because he groans on the other end and murmurs some things to himself.
"Okay. Sorry about that." Dean's eyes dart to the right as Jimmy gets in, quiet albeit looking a little nervous. "So that's what I wasn't telling you. Novak's riding with me and is coming along, I guess." As he says the last words, he gives Jimmy a dirty look and the other man shrinks into his seat, seatbelt clicking into place.
Bobby can't help laughing it seems, because he has a good chuckle before even responding. "Well, even the best cops have sloppy moments," Bobby retorts with a humor in his voice still. "Look, Dean, you know we can't talk much about this in front of him, but my offer is still on the table."
Jimmy intentionally stares off out the passenger window and Dean is grateful he's not being incredibly nosy. "Yeah, uh, I've got something you can help me with, actually. Sam and I have reached a sort of roadblock with this. Can you look up if Roger ever paid back Ellen for that month she helped him with rent? Cause you know how she goes right after people if they don't and I wouldn't want Roger facing her wrath."
Bobby gets the hint, because the three of them—he, Sam, and Dean—have established this sort of coded talk by now in order to avoid tipping off people around them about their cases, particularly dangerous ones. He immediately turns in his chair judging by the screech on the other end and he's scribbling something down for some seconds before speaking up again. "All right, I made a note to look into it. I'll make some calls to some old contacts in Brooklyn later as well. Front door will be unlocked when you get here. Just shout out so I know it's you and come right in. See you, boy."
"Yeah. Thanks, Bobby. See you soon." Dean hangs up with a swift motion and sets his phone down on his dashboard. "All right." He clears his throat, looking right towards Jimmy, and raises his voice. "I said, all right."
Jimmy flinches. "A-are you talking to me?" he asks, turning to look back at Dean.
"Mhm, sure am. So the ground rules of riding in my car that I forgot to tell you before." Dean turns the vehicle on, reaching for the control panel. He switches on his favorite classic rock station and keeps the volume initially low. "Do not touch anything in my car other than the door, seatbelt, and seat. Do not speak to me first unless it's regarding this case or it's something important in general. And lastly," Dean smirks and raises the volume, voice suddenly loud to overpower the tunes, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."
x
Had it not been for his latest phonecall from Garth, Sam would've given up hope on finding out anything new today. He was sitting in his favorite reading spot inside the Brighton Beach library branch, shifting through different case files on his tablet, when Garth frantically informs him that he'd overheard Amelia Novak telling a relative they had absolutely no way to pay back the Volkov's and so leaving for protection was their only option.
Sam sits there after the call, contemplating whether or not to inform Dean immediately. He knows he told Dean not long ago about his lack of luck thus far during his older brother's trip up to Albany, but this? This is what he'd been looking for. He's about to give in to his urge to call when he's distracted by a somewhat familiar voice.
The younger Winchester whips his head to find Novak's twin speaking to a woman, likely a library patron, and he's undoubtedly looking very different from the last time Sam saw him today. In fact, being that the two are only a few feet away, Sam can't help observing just how different this man looks.
His outfit is sharp and neat, consisting of a blood red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black dress pants, a halter-top matching black vest that's double-breasted, and black oxfords. There's an expensive-looking watch on one of his wrists and the only things amiss about his neater ensemble would be the several buttons left undone on his shirt and his dark brown hair, still a wild mess.
"Yes, so if you need anything else, please let me know. I'll be at the service desk right over there." Castiel smiles reassuringly at the woman he'd been speaking to, an older lady in maybe her sixties, and she smiles back before walking off.
Just as Castiel is about to turn and head back to the desk, Sam makes a sudden move. He snatches his arm by the upper part without warning. "Wait, hold up a sec. You're Castiel, right? Did I say that correctly?" The other man's eyes catch Sam's and they go from surprise, perhaps even a bit of what Sam would call fear, to a softer, more lax emotion. He hadn't expected someone as laid back as this guy seemed to be so on edge.
"Ah, Высокий мужчина." Castiel's words brush past Sam's ears much like the sweet sounds of a gentle rain. As it registers in his mind as likely Russian or some other Slovak language, he lets go of the other man's arm just as abruptly as he'd grabbed it. "Hello."
Sam clears his throat, half-startled by the way the words affect him, and gives a quick polite smile. "Hi. Uh, was that Russian?"
"Yes, very good. I said, 'the tall man.' I remember when you came to get your brother from his absent-minded chatting with me earlier." Blue eyes drift from Sam toward a few people browsing the nonfiction. "Also, yes. You say my name perfectly."
Funny. Sam doesn't remember having a strange Russian fetish like his older brother. And yet, the way Castiel uttered those couple of words caused a small tingle in the very pit of his stomach. He doesn't bother questioning it further though since it's likely a random incident, much like the small crushes he's had on other boys over the years, particularly growing up, that never turned into anything more than friendship. The feelings didn't last long enough to pursue after all.
"Sam, is it?" Castiel speaks up once more when he notices the detective spacing out.
"Uh, yeah. Don't ever listen to Dean if he calls me 'Sammy.' I hate that."
Castiel chuckles briefly, glancing around the library before his gaze settles back onto Sam. "Is your brother not here with you?"
A single nod is enough, Sam figures, but he's got time and since he's ran into a lot of dead ends today except for Garth's phonecall, he might as well try another option. "Yeah, he's looking into something elsewhere. Hey, do you have some time to spare? I don't want to drag you into all of this, but we could use all of the help we can get."
"Oh." Castiel looks toward the front desk, nervously, his demeanor quickly changing back into one more like before. "Well, I'm on the clock, so I'm not even really supposed to be chatting with you about nonsense right now. But, um, you could inform my manager that it's police business. It might be okay then."
"On the clock?" Sam quirks a brow and gives Castiel a once-over again. The moment it clicks in his head, he laughs and slaps his forehead. How could he have not put two-and-two together before? "Oh my God, you're a librarian!"
A small smile perks up the corners of the shorter man's cheeks. "Well, gee. Don't act so jealous."
It doesn't take long for Sam to realize how rude he's being and he quickly halts his amusement. "Oh, no, sorry. I don't mean to mock you or anything. I just, wow, I feel stupid. You're dressed all classy and you were talking to that woman about where to find something. I guess I just didn't think librarians really did wear dress clothes."
"Well, some do, some don't. My employers feel this type of dress best embodies the professionalism of a workplace." He pauses then shakes his head. "Though it's mostly because they claim people like myself attract other people here, so this type of dress helps."
"So they're essentially using you." Sam concludes with a half-laugh.
Castiel shrugs. "They pay my bills, so they can use me all they like, so long as it's nothing violating. I'm good at my job and enjoy it; I don't entirely mind being 'eye candy' as well."
Sam gives a gesture with his hand—just a minute—as he disappears over to the front desk suddenly, pad of paper slipped from his pocket and pen in hand. He speedily writes up a note for the other employees and their bosses, telling them to call him if they have any issue with him "borrowing" Castiel for a little while. The two women behind the desk swoon like doves at his very presence. He's used to this kind of reaction by now, as much as he hates to admit.
By the time he's back Castiel looks bewildered. "Okay, sorry about that. Permission granted. Now let's have a more serious chat."
"Oh. You took me seriously," the shorter man remarks, eyes flicking down to the floor. If he's feeling disappointed, upset, nervous, or any combination of the three, Sam doesn't know. But with the way things are, he does know better than to pass on an opportunity like this.
"Well, I kind of really do need you right now. I found out something interesting regarding our big case and your answers to certain questions could be extremely helpful." Sam rests a hand on his shoulder, doing his best to give off his typical comforting demeanor, though he's completely aware being interviewed by cops is usually always pretty stressful regardless of the situation.
Castiel open his mouth for a moment as if to speak, but no words come out at first and he instead sighs. "If that's what you need, detective, then I'm more than willing to cooperate." His words don't sound entirely sincere, but it doesn't bother Sam in the least.
"All right. Shall we?" He leads Castiel back to the room the Winchesters typically reserve, lets him go in first, then closes and locks the door behind them. The day is quickly passing by and Sam doesn't want to waste any more time. "So."
Castiel eyes the tablet Sam's folding open onto the table, its case propping it up towards a seat, and so Castiel takes that as a sign he's supposed to sit on the opposite side. "Comfy?" Sam asks once they've both settled down.
"As much as one can be in the presence of someone so hands—" It's like he's cutting himself off before he says something too, well, flirtatious, and Sam can't help thinking back to what Dean had been teasing him about before. "—w-well, intimidating."
"You think I'm intimidating?" Sam's eyebrow launches up his forehead.
"You're probably the tallest man I've seen lately."
"You work in a public library. I kind of doubt that."
Castiel glances off to the side this time. "Well, you are. We mostly get little old ladies, their husbands, high school and college students, and the occasional business-oriented types on lunch break."
"Oh. I see. Anyway," Sam decides changing the topic and getting focused is for the best as he slides a finger across his tablet to unlock it, "let's get to the questions."
Castiel leans his arms onto the table, fingers tangling together, and his eyes dart between Sam and the tabletop. There's a certain quality to Castiel's voice that is quickly getting engraved into Sam's mind, and he wonders momentarily if it's the same for Dean each time he runs into him.
"So, your parents. They're the Volkov's, yes? The philanthropist couple that fixes up Brooklyn and holds charity events all of the time?" Sam does his best to sound friendly despite where this is all leading.
"Yes," Castiel answers very quietly. Perhaps he can tell what Sam is getting at? Either way, he keeps his eyes on the table at this point, lips pinched into a tight frown whenever he's not speaking.
Sam flips through some open files on his tablet. If he's going to be smart about this and actually get the information he's looking for, he shouldn't push for it. He's never been one to think Dean's often more brutal tactics are appropriate for every situation. Then again, he's not exactly against them when absolutely necessary, but in this case—
"How about your extended family?" Castiel's eyes immediately flick up to meet Sam's, tension brewing in those sapphire blues. "Are you or your parents close with them?"
"Absolutely not," Castiel answers without hesitation. "There are many reasons, but most of all it's their line of 'business' that I'm sure you're familiar with. My parents were never involved in it and refused to ever join. I followed in their footsteps when it comes to that."
Sam smiles. "Okay, I believe you. No worries either, I'm not accusing. Just curious."
Castiel sighs with heaviness to his expression, one hand coming up to rub over his face. It's at times like these Sam realizes he brings up certain bad memories unintentionally during interviews. Apologetically, he reaches a hand across the table to pat Castiel's arm, who looks at him through fingers spread across and draped over one eye.
"So this has to do with Jimmy." The words come out as a clear and straightforward statement, not a question.
"It's a possibility. I'm not at authority to confirm anything with you however." Sam recalls all of the times he's had to say that to people who only want to know for the sake of other people's safety and/or their own, and a certain pang of guilt always burdens him. "I will say you have to be careful. I know the Volkov's adopted you, but Novak's still your biological twin and these are dangerous people who'll do anything to get what they want."
"You don't have to tell me that." The words are a murmured annoyance. Whether the emotion is directed at Sam or Castiel's relatives isn't clear.
Sam leans back into his seat, arms crossing as if by reflex, and he makes a little popping noise with his lips. This seems to catch Castiel's attention again because he's suddenly staring right at Sam, leaning forward against the table with his arms tucked against his chest. "Can you really not tell me any more than that?"
Maybe it's the goddamn puppy eyes he's getting that he usually directs at other people, but Sam feels that typical pang of guilt explode. He bites his lower lip and glances at the ceiling before looking Castiel in the eyes. "I'm sorry. Not exactly my favorite part of the job to leave people hanging," he says, helplessly shrugging.
"I see." Castiel doesn't sound convinced, which makes Sam want to tell him at least something else that would ease even some of the burden of uncertainty—but he knows he can't. He can't and it really freaking sucks. "Is that all you needed from me, detective?"
When Sam thinks about it, there aren't really any other questions coming to mind after all, at least, none that would fall in the realm of necessary and helpful. "I suppose it is."
"Then if you excuse me, I have to get back to work." Castiel practically knocks the chair over as he stands, not bothering, wanting, to say more than that. He flicks the lock open, twists the knob, and then exits the room with a swift slam of the door behind him. It's harsh and speaks volumes about how uncomfortable the topic makes the librarian—or maybe even how upsetting it is that Sam only wanted his company for two simple questions involving a case Castiel isn't even a part of.
When he thinks about it, Sam wonders if Castiel feels their original conversation was deceptive, that he was using him purely for those answers. But Sam did sincerely enjoy their little chat, however short it was. And while he did want answers, that hadn't been his ulterior motive when he'd grabbed Castiel's arm. In fact, he isn't even sure why he did that; he hadn't thought of asking Castiel those questions until after.
Sam decides it's best to stay where he is and enters in the answers he was given. He doesn't want to make Castiel feel worse than he already does; there is a reason after all, people say Dean is the tough guy and Sam the empath. Sam sighs and contemplates contacting Dean like before. Dammit, now his guilt is haunting him. He almost misses Castiel's little flirting.
Castiel, on the other hand, storms across the library with a fury his coworkers aren't used to seeing. It's a silent anger that shows in his expression and movements, so not even one of them attempts to ask how it went or if Sam's going to be sticking around. That's saying a lot because the females of the library particularly swoon over the long-haired Winchester.
The man makes his way to a cart of books needing re-shelving and decides the therapeutic effect organizing and putting things away has on him is best for his bad mood right now. He shoves the cart along until he's reached the first section, and then begins reading the code on the side of each book.
While he's in the middle of placing the fifth book back on a shelf, fingers wrap around his upper arm and he almost snaps at who he believes to be Sam once more. He isn't interested in being used for more questions involving a case he wants no part of that he won't even be told the simple details of. This hand, however, is a tad too small to be the detective's he realizes after he turns to look.
"Wooow, look at that face! Someone's got the baby bird ready for a tantrum!"
Castiel practically growls at the grin being directed up at him by a man shorter than him. "Gabriel," he grounds out, turning to focus his attention back on the books, "how many times have I told you not to bother me while I'm at work?"
"Hmm, gosh, I've lost track. But hey, come on, can't you make time for your big bro?"
Castiel straightens his spine and takes a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily. It's his typical ritual he has to do in order to get himself calm enough to speak to anyone when he's in a really bad mood and hasn't had the chance to feel better. It's especially necessary when dealing with someone like Gabriel.
"Is there something you need?" he finally asks, turning to the older Volkov.
Gabriel grins like before, his prior pouty look having gone ignored. "Yep. Good news, baby bird, Luke's back in town." Castiel immediately, and noticeably, tenses. "And he wants to talk especially with you."
"When? And why?" He's trying his damnedest not to show how uncomfortable that name makes him, but Castiel realizes it's an extremely difficult task to do given their history.
"Here and because I'm requesting your presence at a very special event I'm hosting." His eldest brother's voice sends a chill straight down his spine and Castiel puts on his best calm front. "Don't look so excited to see me, baby bird."
"I really wish you'd both stop calling me that."
"But you're the baby of the family," Gabriel leans in to hook an arm up around Castiel's shoulder playfully, "and you tilt your head all birdlike to this day. Say, do all your coworkers still make fun of you for that?"
"Shut up, Gabriel, please."
Castiel feels like he's being attacked on all fronts today. First, he runs into that Dean Winchester, who is so incredibly hot, but is so smug that Castiel refuses to admit he's had this schoolgirl crush on him since he first saw him on TV. Then he runs right into Dean's brother Sam, who is equally as attractive and has these sweet, empathetic eyes that go straight through him—but no, screw him right now, he's still mad about what he did.
And now, as if things couldn't get any worse, Gabriel shows up, whom, typically, he can deal with—though not without needing a pain killer for the massive migraine that usually follows one of his visits. Oh, but that's not the icing on the cake. Luke's here and Castiel still has the scars from the last time he'd gone to one of his eldest brother's events. It had turned into a rain of gunfire and blood very quickly. He's still burdened with waking up at three-in-the-morning sometimes, tears in his eyes and unable to stop his body from shaking until at an hour later.
"Please, Gabriel, don't attract attention," Luke murmurs, digging around in one of his jean pockets. He then turns his attention back to Castiel, smiling sweetly. "Here, my peculiar little thing, I have a special ticket for you."
Castiel hesitantly grabs the piece of paper after a moment of his eyes darting back and forth between it and Luke. He frowns when he reads what it's for. "A gala?"
"Oh, yes. An extravagant, lovely gala with twinkling lights and classical live music, pianos and violins echoing around the ballroom. There'll be girls in beautiful gowns and men in their Sunday best. It's everything you adore, you'll love it. What do you say?"
"But what is it for?" Castiel is more than concerned, never liking it when Luke shows up after months to announce he wants to celebrate something. More successful sales and manufacturing of drugs? Another dozen hits on innocent people who simply couldn't pay up their owed debt? Another takeover of some other underground group's territory?
Gabriel laughs. "Why do you look so worried, Cassie? It's for your birthday!"
Castiel's expression shifts to bewilderment for a while until he realizes that August 20th is less than three weeks away. But a gala? Castiel has never been fond of large celebrations for his birthday; Luke and Gabriel both know this. So why the sudden party?
"But why? You're both aware I dislike being the center of attention. And besides, I've plans for my birthday. A-and last time I went to an event of yours, Luke, I—" His eyes wander to the floor, unable to finish the sentence or risk the horrible memories taking over.
Luke frowns and places a hand on Castiel's face to reassuringly stroke his younger sibling's cheek with a thumb. "You will be protected, I promise. No one's going to lay a finger on my pretty little brother." Castiel's eyes drift to exchange a hard glance with Luke, who's keeping his own eyes soft. Castiel always finds it irritable that he can rarely read his true emotions due to his ability to hide them so well.
"I want to make it up to you, what happened at the last event," Luke continues. "Not to worry, it won't be on your actual birthday either. Which reminds me." He smiles and his hand slips to Castiel's shoulder. "I can introduce you to several lovely ladies while there."
Castiel steps back, pulling away from his hand. "No, thank you. I'm content being single." Which is true, however, he's also afraid of the backlash he'll get if Luke finds out he's crushing on two detectives of all people. Last time he liked a cop and admitted to it, Luke almost crashed his car into a utility pole.
"Suit yourself!" Gabriel chimes in again. "Luke's got all these beautiful babes he's met recently. Ah, they're like fine works of art, I'm tellin' ya!"
"And I'm telling you, I'm not interested," Castiel retorts, giving Gabriel a dirty look that's met with an even bigger smirk and eyebrow waggling.
"Fine, fine! But definitely come!" Gabriel flashes his own ticket to Castiel, waving it in front of his face. "Everyone's going to be there, our friends and whole family, including Anna, Mom, and Dad!"
As much as Castiel adores his older sister and parents, he isn't exactly fond of how there'll be his extended family and brothers' friends present. He greatly dislikes most of his cousins, aunts, and uncles, and the thought of Gabriel bed-hopping and chatting Castiel's ear off and Luke showing him off to his friends like he's a fine China doll not his younger brother only gives Castiel a headache.
Unfortunately, as much as he wants to outright reject the offer, he decides playing it safe is the best option. "I'll think about it."
"Good, good." Luke is smiling once more and he pulls Castiel in to hug him briefly before stepping away. "Now I'll leave you to your work. Take care, my peculiar little thing."
Castiel doesn't even feel the least bit relieved until Luke has walked out of view. Gabriel is still right by his side however, and it causes irritation to sneak up in his blood again. He starts to re-shelve the books once more, ignoring the obnoxious way Gabriel's watching his every move. "Why are you still here? I got called into work late on a day off because two people left sick. I have a lot to do before closing."
"Aww, don't be so mean, Cassie! I'm just wondering when you're going to quit this ridiculous, boring job and come work for me!"
"Gabriel, we've been over this so, so many times. I enjoy working here. It's not boring."
A pout replaces the expression previously on his older brother's face. "But you'd be such a pretty model. The girls, and guys, would love you. I mean, just look at those dark blues!" He grips Castiel's chin and forces him to turn his way. "So beautiful. I wish these ran in the blood of our family. Luke's got Mum's eyes, the faded baby blues, and Anna and I got Dad's."
"If you don't let go of my face in the next ten seconds, I will not hesitate to pummel you with books." Castiel's threat doesn't go unheard and Gabriel releases his face with another pout. "I really wish you'd both stop treating me like I'm an object," Castiel adds as he turns back to his work.
Gabriel shrugs. "I'm sorry you feel that way, we just really admire your good looks is all. I wish you'd cash in on them before you're all old and wrinkly."
Castiel rolls his eyes. "The library is closing to the public soon, big bro. Find your way out."
Having finished with this particular section, he pushes the cart off. He can hear Gabriel's annoying laughter fade into the distance as he makes his way over to the Teen section. While on his way, he passes by the room he'd spoken to Sam in, and notices the detective is no longer there. Whatever. It's not like he cares too much. To hell with those attractive Winchester boys—he's got bigger problems to worry about now.
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Apparitions and Their Untimely Returns